


Stuck on You

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 22:17:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,122
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18214379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: PROMPT: Hi thank you so much for keeping our fandom very alive with your wonderful fics I hope you never stop writing them. I have a prompt for you, Shaw's new with her sort of feelings and she finds that she actually misses Root after she's been away for a mission. After Root gets back Shaw gets really clingy (as clingy as Shaw can get anyways) and Root pulls away at first cause she doesn't wanna make Shaw uncomfortable but Sameen keeps coming back





	Stuck on You

_I don't miss her. I don't miss her. I don't._

_It's only been a week, after all._  Root had been gone for longer when she'd first joined the team, and Shaw hadn't missed her then.  _This shouldn't be any different._

But somehow, it is.

Shaw had never experienced the feeling that comes with unexpectedly waking up alone. Sure, she went to bed alone— as she had every day for the last week— but it was the feeling you see in movies. Expecting someone to be there when you roll over, expecting the warmth beside you, only to find the chill of solitude and empty sheets. In all her years, that wasn't something Shaw dealt with. She never missed people like that. _Like Root._

_I don't miss her. I don't miss her. I don't._

_It's not like we're together every night_ , Shaw hisses to herself as she walks along the Manhattan block, head down and jaw clenched.  _We're not that type of thing._

Not that Root doesn't try to get Shaw to admit they're that sort of thing. That relationship-thing. That care-about-each-other-thing. Shaw knows Root wants to hear the words, and would wait until the end of the world for them.  _But we're not that type of thing._

And when she asked Shaw what they were, if not that?

_Another type of thing._

_Grade A answer by the way_ , Shaw says to herself with a mental kick for the umpteenth time. She never specified what she meant, and the truth is, she doesn't know herself. She doesn't know what to call it, just that it's there. Feelings that she's never experienced like this.  _Attraction?_  Sure, she's felt attraction, but this is different. There's something more to it, in a way that attraction is simultaneously too general of a statement and not even the right statement at all. She doesn't quite understand the emotions lurking within, but one thing she does understand:

_I miss her._

She rolls her eyes as the dam bursts, letting through the one thought she'd been desperately holding at bay. She misses Root.  _Not that I'd admit it,_ she adds, ears heating as if some way, some how, Root could hear the thought.

When Root left, she hadn't kept in touch. Hadn't said where she was going, or why. Just a number; the usual. Only, Shaw wasn't tagging along. _It's not like I needed to, or wanted to._

She wanted to.

What makes matters worse than wanting to go and staying is the fact that Root isn't answering calls. Isn't sending texts. Complete radio silence. Shaw only called the first three days, then decided to make Harold do it instead.  _No need to look desperate_ , Shaw told herself,  _or like I'm worried_. She isn't worried; she knows Root can handle the job.

 _But how long is the job?_  That's another thing Root hadn't specified before waltzing off to A.I.-god knows where.

She's waiting for Root's return. Every day anticipating it a little bit more, despite her best efforts to ignore Root's absence entirely. Shaw's constantly expecting to be pulled into an alleyway, or to have Root grab her shoulder from behind in the dark, or say an overly affectionate greeting at the worst possible time.

With each step past a darkened corner or gap between buildings, Shaw goes over in her head the way she'll act irritated at seeing Root. Not too irritated, just enough to get a rise out of Root, who Shaw knows would want her to be excited at their reunion.

Shaw, regardless of her mental barricades, keeps hoping Root will show.

And then she does.

With one swift tug at her forearm, Shaw is yanked into an alley used for restaurant dumpsters. Her back is pressed against the grimy bricks, warm breath on her skin as her eyes readjust to see Root's glowing gaze and devious smirk.

At the sight, Shaw forgets every sarcastic quip and cutting one-liner that she'd been formulating for the last seven days. Instead, she smiles back.

"Tongue tied?" Root asks, a flicker of surprise surfacing in her eyes at Shaw's uncharacteristic silence.

"Just good to have you back."

Root arches a brow, smirk faltering as a toothy grin breaks free.

"Good to be back, though, I'm a little disappointed."

"Oh?"

"Usually you have something a little more sharp for me," she says, feigning disappointment. "Losing your edge?"

"Just thought I'd play nice," Shaw replies, shrugging Root's hands from her shoulders. She's still close, and the last thing Shaw wants is for her to move away. "Didn't think you'd want me to crush your ego on your first day back."

Root tilts her head, hair spilling to the side as she gives Shaw a sympathetic smile.

"It's cute that you think anyone could bring me down."

"You do put yourself on quite the pedestal," Shaw agrees. Her phone pings, but she ignores it, far more interested in Root's widening eyes than whoever's on the other line. As Root leans in, corners of her mouth turned up in play, Shaw forgets the message entirely.

"Just trying to get a little closer to you," Root replies, scanning Shaw over and crinkling her nose. From this close, Shaw can see every mahogany swirl and gold fleck in Root's brown eyes. She watches the excitement of being home flicker within them; then, she watches the spark taper off.

Root pulls back, gaze flickering back toward the street as she clears her throat. Shaw nearly reaches out a hand to stop her, but decides better of it. Root's fingers move along her jeans with unease, until she secures them in her back pockets.

 _Okay..._  Shaw thinks, waiting for Root to explain the sudden change. _I guess we're gonna pretend that's not weird._  With a nearly imperceptible sigh of disappointment, Shaw checks her messages.

 **Reese:**  Running late?

Rolling her eyes, she stashes the phone without answering and brushes past Root toward the crowded street.  _For 8:30a.m., you'd think people would have other places to be._  
  
"You coming?" Shaw calls back to Root, struggling to keep her eyes forward. She wants to look back— wait for Root to join her, or at the least, make sure Root isn't already waltzing off to a new mission. A mission without her. But with Root's odd behavior, she doesn't want to seem affected.

Despite wanting to remain neutral to whether Root is still here or not, Shaw is unable to ignore the relief that washes over her as Root catches up to her, matching Shaw's gait as she pushes a loose curl behind her ear.

"Any big plans for the day?" Root asks, tone conversational. Shaw strains to hear something off in her voice, but finds nothing.

"Just scoping out a number with John."

Shaw's eyes flicker over, calculating the distance between them. She doesn't know how to explain what she's feeling, just that—  _for some reason_ — the space feels too great.

"We've been on him for two days," Shaw continues, angling herself toward Root as they continue down the street. She keeps her eyes on the changing traffic lights, on the hot dog stand at the corner, at anything that makes this look like coincidence more than a calculated move. She's closer, but somehow, still not close enough. "He's probably the most boring guy I've seen."

"The numbers are rarely boring."

"This might be the rarity."

Shaw's arm brushes against Root's leather jacket, bumping alongside her forearm with each step.

"The guy's a low level accountant. All he does is go to his office and go home.  _Every day_."

She waits for Root to say something. A word of encouragement Shaw can sneer away, or a witty remark she can roll her eyes at. She looks to Root, finding her watching their arms with a small smile. Feeling eyes on her, she peers up, catches Shaw's questioning stare, and tears her eyes away, cheeks trimmed with pink.

 _I bet I could make them red_ , Shaw thinks to herself, knowing all it would take is for her to grab Root’s hand. An absurd idea, all things considered, but one Shaw can't help but want to pursue.

Until Root pulls away. The distance between them returns, Shaw's hand outstretching minutely only to ball up in a fist at her side. Now  _her_ cheeks are the ones beginning to color.

Shaw has never been the insecure type, but doubt begins creeping its way into the back of her mind. What if all the times Root pressed to know what kind of relationship they had, it wasn't to make Shaw admit they had something, but to make sure it wasn't serious? Shaw knows the thought has shaky founding at best, but can't quite be certain.  _Why else would she pull away so much?_  She thinks to all the morning-afters, spent drinking coffee together and watching the early news. All the nights where something came up, or a dinner conversation carried over, and they stayed up until dawn discussing or playfully arguing the topic at hand.

 _Clearly, there's something here_ , Shaw muses to herself, then shuts her eyes tight, realizing she’s just confirmed what she’s been denying. _Shit._

"You two need any help?" Root asks, not seeming to have noticed Shaw’s contemplation.

Shaw's default response of 'no' is on her lips. She stops. Thinks.

Help is certainly not necessary on a man who makes watching paint dry look like an extreme sport, but after all the time spent without Root, the last thing Shaw wants is for her to leave so soon.  _Regardless of 'feelings'._

"I could use a spotter," Shaw replies casually, yanking open a gratified door at the street corner. She holds it open for Root, then slams in shut behind them, grabbing the duffel bag she'd stashed in an upturned trash can on Monday and heading for the roof.   
  
 **___\ If Your Number's Up /___**

"Welcome back," John greets as the trio set up their coms. "I was wondering when you'd turn up."

"You know you can't get rid of me," Root coos in return, pulling up a dilapidated lawn chair and plopping down. She watches Shaw pull the pieces of a sniper rifle from a duffel bag, and leans back, kicking her feet up on the rim of the building.

"Glad to hear it, though, you might want to keep in touch next time."

"Why, did you miss me?"

"Not as much as Shaw."

Shaw scoffs at the words, eyeing her scope as she aligns in on the top of her rifle.

"I missed her about as much as a pig misses the slaughter house," Shaw retorts.

"I don't know," John continues, "didn't seem like it from how much you were bugging Finch to find her."

"It's been a week," Shaw counters defensively, shoulders tensing as she sets her rifle on its mount. "I'm allowed to check if she's  _dead_ or not."

"That was only the second day." John's humor is palpable in Root's ear, and she can't help the toothy grin that comes with listening to them bicker. "You were much worse by the end of the week. Not to mention all the talking to Bear—"

"You spying on me or something?" Shaw interjects, ears red and lips curled back viciously.

"Just worried," John replies, feigning concern. "You've seemed a little... home sick, is all."

"You can keep your worry," Shaw grumbles, angling the gun away from their target building. "Or I'll shoot."

Taking the small scope Shaw had handed her, Root looks in the direction of Shaw's aim. Sure enough, after a moment's search, she finds John standing across the street, looking up at them with a satisfied grin.

"Try not to distract her too much?" John asks Root as he starts toward the accounting firm.

"I'll do my best."

"One of these days, I really will shoot him," Shaw says, picking up her equipment. When Root doesn't hear the echo of Shaw's words repeating through her com, she realizes Shaw muted her mic, and quickly does the same.  _As fun as it would be for John to hear what we say, I think he's heckled Sameen enough for one day._

"He's just having a little fun, Sweetie."

"He can have fun without a kneecap," Shaw responds, moving her chair next to Root's and sitting down. Static crackles in the air around Root, heart beating a little faster with Shaw's proximity. Shaw rests the rifle against her chair, slouching back in her seat.

"Shouldn't you be paying more attention?" Root teases. "John's going to think I'm not even trying to keep my word."

"Trust me, there's nothing worth paying attention to in there."

 _Apparently not_ , Root agrees, as it seems all of Shaw's attention is focused on her. And, truly, there's nothing Root would rather pay more attention to right now than Shaw. While she loves the Machine's missions, she'd wished Shaw could have been there. They say distance makes the heart grow fonder, and while they're not wrong, Root finds herself a perfect level of fond for Shaw without needing the distance factor.

 _The distance does seem to have affected Shaw_ , Root thinks, but can't quite be sure.  _She seems more... clingy, for lack of a better word_. Not that this is even remotely over-the-top, nor is the attention something Root minds. She wasn't worried that the mission, no matter how long it took, would leave time for Shaw to grow separate from her; however, she hadn't expected Shaw to want to be closer.

"What did She have you doing?" Shaw asks, looking Root over, as if assessing possible damage or changes. Root smiles, rolling the scope from her right hand to her left.

"Just the usual relevant number. Oregon is surprisingly cold this time of year."

Shaw nods, the conversation seemingly over. Most days, it's more than a fair effort to try and read Shaw's mind, but Root likes to think she's gotten better at it over the years. That, coupled with Shaw being relatively forthcoming about what's on her mind. At least, when it comes to being pissed off or in need of a good steak. Still, she's harder to read today than most, and Root can't help but wonder if having missed Shaw is making her see things that aren't really here. Is she over-extending Shaw's everyday actions as advances, or are they actually there?

She's torn from her thoughts as electricity courses through her veins, starting at her fingertips and sparking back to her heart like a live wire. Shaw's hand encases Root's, tugging it off Root's lap and onto her own. Shaw traces her fingers along the scrapes on Root's knuckles, leaving her skin tingling. Root forces her breath to steady— swallows her hammering heart— as Shaw nonchalantly turns Root's hand over, inspecting it, then runs her thumb over Root's chipped nail polish.

"What's it from?" Shaw asks, fingers back to looping lazy circles around the scrapes, but Root's mind is short circuiting, not expecting Shaw's actions, and three steps behind processing them.

"I, uh, forgot my nail polish at home," Root answers. "Haven't had time to fix them yet."

Shaw nods, the ghost of a smirk on her face that makes butterflies flutter in Root's stomach.

"I meant these," she says with something like warmth bubbling in her words, tapping at a particularly long scratch on Root's knuckle. Root's ears grow hot, kicking herself for not realizing what Shaw'd meant.

"One of the guys I punched had a lip ring."

"Must have hurt."

"Hurt  _him_."

Shaw looks to Root as Root mimics the lip ring tearing out with her free hand. Shaw mouths a pained 'ooh,' her brows knit. She continues toying with Root's hand, her fingers dancing between Root's. Root waits, expecting Shaw to return it eventually; instead, Shaw places Root's hand down on her leg, her own fingers loosely knit between Root's. The movement is so natural, it's as if Shaw's hand had simply landed that way.

Root can't help but smile, a little flustered but absolutely content. She curls her fingers in, holding onto Shaw's tightly. After a moment, Shaw's fingers slowly encase hers. Root begins leaning in with the intent to rest her head on Shaw's shoulder. A sense of euphoria floats about her like a melody, until it dies with a single thought:

_The movement is so natural, it's as if Shaw's hand had simply landed that way._

Before, it added to Root's pleasant mood, thinking things between them were natural. But what if it really  _had_ landed that way? Shaw waiting for Root to pull her hand back, but instead, she'd held on tighter?

Root returns to an upright position, then stands, fingers straightening as she pulls them away from Shaw's. Shaw holds firm at first, as if not wanting to let go, but it's only for a second, and Root can't tell if this is another simple action she's over-reading.

"Something wrong?" Shaw asks, and Root detects the hint of something lying just below the surface.  _Disappointment, or just curiosity?_  She can't tell, and doesn't trust herself to make the deciding call.

"I just gotta get going."

"New number?" Shaw asks, beginning to stand. Root shakes her head quickly, and Shaw falls back into place.

"I'm thinking of running some errands," Root responds, trying to come up with anything that sounds better than the truth.  _Something that'll make Shaw drop the— the... the whatever it is that's in Shaw's voice._  "Getting nail polish,"  _terrible,_  "checking in on Harold,"  _barely better,_  "and..."

She's got it.

"...Considering how much John says you've been talking to Bear about me," she says, devious smirk growing, "I think I should go check on him. Make sure he's not missing me too much."

Shaw tenses as John's words come back to haunt her, and she lifts the rifle.

"You do that," she responds, voice flat as she peers through her scope. With Shaw's eyes off of her, she drops the confidence, mind racing as she darts toward the stairwell.

**___\ We'll Find You /___**

_The last thing I want is to make her uncomfortable._

It's the only coherent thought running through Root's mind. The rest are jumbles of uncertainties and rewinding the events of the day. Not even petting bear is quelling her nerves, although, he is trying his best.

His tail thumps wildly against her side as he rolls onto his stomach, head in her lap and tongue lolling out as she scratches his belly. He darts up, scampers across the subway, grabs a toy from his bed, and dashes back, effectively knocking Root over as her legs fly forward and her back slams onto the ground.

" _Af,_ " Harold commands, stepping out of the subway cart with two mugs of tea in hand. Bear obeys, jumping off of Root and sitting expectantly at her side, his slobber-soaked toy resting on her chest.

Pulling herself into a sitting position once more, she throws it, then takes a mug from Harold.

"Excuse me for not accompanying you on the floor," Harold says, eyeing the less than sterile tiles speckled with Bear's paw prints. Bear returns, toy in tow, and plops down at Root's lap. She runs her fingers through his fur, then takes a sip of the scorching hot tea. "What is it that's on your mind, Ms. Groves?"

"You and I have been good friends for a while," she starts, met with Harold's skeptical countenance. Root tilts her head, cocking a brow.

"You mean, despite kidnapping and holding each other hostage on multiple occasions?" he asks.

"That's just our playful relationship."

"I'm not sure you know what playful means."

She rolls her eyes, then shakes her head free of the tangent.

"My point is, you know how I act around Shaw."

"I've noticed your... behavior," he responds, smile at the corner of his mouth. "Is there a problem?"

"No, she's just," Root isn't sure how to put it. "Acting different, I think, like she wants to be closer more often. Or maybe I'm pushing it a little hard."

"Subtlety has never been your strong suit," he points out, and she raises her mug in agreement.

"I've never wanted to overdo it, though. My goal isn't how uncomfortable I can make her."

He gives her a look.

"A different  _kind_ of uncomfortable."

Harold sighs, looking down into the contents of his cup in thought. His gaze pulls to her.

"Considering your feelings toward Ms. Shaw, I'm not so sure her advances are a bad thing."

"But," Root says, a nearly exasperated laugh on her lips, "that's just the thing. What if they're  _not_ advances?"

Harold shrugs.

"Our jobs are to discern people's true intentions. Why not look at the situation from that perspective?"

Root mulls it over a minute, an idea coming to mind.

"That smile says you're planning something," Harold says with unease. "Hopefully not illegal?"

"Just lunch," Root replies, shimmying out from under Bear. Harold extends Root a hand, and she takes it. Brushing herself off, she starts for the exit while unlocking her phone.

"If you see John, can you tell him to come here? I can't seem to get in touch with him."

She nods.

"Thanks for the help, Harry," she calls behind as she hits send.

 **Me:**  Lunch?

**___ \ Stuck on You /___**

**Root:**  Lunch?

Shaw rolls the question about in her head, spending more time than she usually does when food is involved.

She could use a break.  _Wonder Accountant Paul Hermans hasn't moved from his office in an hour_. She'd grown bored about two minutes into that hour.

But Root's been acting strange _—_  like how she dropped her smile the second she thought Shaw wasn’t looking _—_  and Shaw isn't sure of the cause. She definitely wants to see Root, and decides that this might mean Root's mood has changed.

 **Me:**  Bench outside of Smith's Parking Garage. Two blocks from the accounting firm.

 **Root:**  Be there in ten.

Shaw pulls her rifle off the lip of the building, taking it apart and placing the pieces back in the duffel bag. She's not worried that someone will wander up here while she's gone, but at least it'll give her something to do when she gets back.

She could've had Root meet her here for lunch, but the mere thought of sitting in that chair another minute is enough to make her think she's the threat to the number. She also doesn't bother to tell John, knowing that he'll either disapprove or want to tag along. Thinking of John joining them, telling Root who-knows-what about Shaw's actions while she wasn't around, makes her skin crawl.

_No, thank you._

_Not that I was even acting unreasonable_ , Shaw justifies to herself, taking the stairs two at a time.  _There's nothing wrong with looking out for a teammate_. It wasn't quite as simple as that, and she knows it.

It was loneliness, not realizing how much of her day had Root in it. It was wanting her to come home. Home seems like an odd term. She doesn't mean back to Root's apartment, though it's comforting to know where to find her.  _Home is more... central._  Almost like home for Shaw is the two of them in the same place more than Root back in the city.

 _Don't be so emotional_ , Shaw groans to herself, pushing the thoughts away as she comes to the bench. She paces by it a few times, not wanting to sit down again so soon.  _Don't complicate things._

"Anxiously awaiting my return?" Root greets from behind, and Shaw stops her pace. Eyeing Root, her gaze lands on a white wrapped sandwich that looks like—

"Your favorite," Root confirms, wagging it in the air and sitting on the bench. Shaw watches her, eyes glued to the wrapping.

She pounces.

Before Root has time to realize what's happened, Shaw dives for the sandwich, tearing it from her grasp, and shreds the paper. Taking a large bite, heaven sets in, and she nearly forgets the rest of the world exists.

"Good thing I didn't decide we could share it," Root muses, opening a paper bag Shaw had completely missed and pulling out a wrap. Shaw gives Root a glare in return, curling up on the bench and leaning against Root as she chews.

Root slides a bit away, eyes watching with an analytical precision in them. Shaw, not quite noticing past the sandwich, moves with her, keeping her shoulder at Root's. Again, Root moves. Again, Shaw moves with her. Another slide away. Another slide to. Root's at the edge of the bench, no where left to go, but she doesn't wear the countenance of someone seeking escape. Shaw looks her over, and the calculation in Root's eyes melts into something warm. Something certain.

"So," Shaw says, words muddied with food, "what is it with you?"

Root's brows crease in confusion. Shaw smirks.

"I'm starting to think you didn't miss me while you were gone," Shaw cracks, the humor holding a hint of truth.

Root purses her lips, then brushes a loose strand of Shaw's hair from her face, leaving her arm at the back of the bench while she leans on her open palm.

"Missing you's the only thing that keeps me coming home instead of traveling the world," Root replies affectionately. She expects Shaw to roll her eyes. She doesn't. "Well, that," Root continues, "and I don't know how Harry and the Big Lug would ever get on without me."

A small silence settles between them.

"You think  _I_ could?" Shaw asks.

"You could what?"

"Get on without you." Shaw polishes off her sandwich, glances at Root's barely touched wrap, and snags half. She takes a bite, then puts the rest back. "You only said Finch and John."

"You've never really been the type to need anyone else," Root points out; Shaw shrugs.

Root returns to her lunch, and Shaw stretches the fatigue from her limbs, allowing her arm to drape along the back of the bench behind Root. She taps her fingers along Root's shoulder, trying to find just the right words to say.

"I guess..." Shaw begins, making her words sound far more begrudging than she feels. "I'd miss you."

"You  _guess_?" Root scoffs, eyes lighting in both delight and surprise.

"Yeah, I  _guess_ ," Shaw says, and the two share a laugh.

"How much is 'I guess?'" Root asks, laughter subsiding to a chuckle.

"Enough to follow you around the world."

The answer steals Root's humor from her lips. She gives Shaw a curious look, eyes alight.

"You know," Shaw adds, voice hardening as she grows defensive. "For missions. I'm not really the vacation type."

"What," Root asks with a smile, "no black sand beach and flowery drinks for you?"

"Maybe if you're buying."

Shaw catches the surprise in Root's eyes, and the way her lopsided smile beams. _It's nice catching her off guard like this, seeing her past the smooth exterior._ She begins losing herself in the moment, all the feelings she'd been unable to sort out before having the perfect place here. Not quite configured by any means, but that's not such a bad thing.

_Crash!_

Root and Shaw turn, seeing trashcans upturn and spill into the street as Paul books toward the parking garage, reeking of fear with eyes buldging.

"Pete!  _Pete_ , get my keys!" he screams, hoping the parking attendant can hear him. " _Get_ the  _keys_!"

He's nearly to the entrance when a man bursts around the corner. He's holding his arm and limping slightly, but his eyes are dead-set as he raises his injured arm to shoot.

Shaw shoots first.

She leans over Root, scoring a hit to each of his kneecaps. Paul skitters to a stop. He eyes Shaw with terror, unsure whether to look at her face or her gun, and so tries to do both simultaneously.

"New York, right?" Shaw asks, stowing her gun back in her waistband and returning to her place wedged against Root. Paul stammers, mouth moving with words that won't come out, then he's running into the garage.

" _Pete_! Pete, you're  _not_ gonna believe this!"

John throws himself around the corner next, hair in complete disarray and nose gushing blood. He's limping heavily, and is one panting fit away from collapsing.

"Why weren't you on the roof?" he yells, staggering toward them as he sucks in a steadying breath.

"Lunch break."

"I just had to fight off four mob hit men."

"Looks like I got the one that mattered."

John gives her a cross look, but seeing the man on the ground, he loses some of his edge. Running the back of his hand across his face, blood smears from his nose to his sleeve. He peers at it as if it's nothing more than an inconvenience. His gaze settles accusingly on Root.

"I told you not to distract her."

"Can't fight crime on an empty stomach," Root replies, then rummages through the bag and tosses him a wrapped sandwich. He peels it open, irritation dissipating with each bite. "Harold's looking for you."

"Station?"

"Where else?"

He nods, holding the sandwich her way in thanks, then starts back the way he came.

Nestling back into place, Root lets out a yawn, met by Shaw's curiosity.

"Jet lag," she explains.

"Staying at your place tonight?"

"Only if you'll be there," Root quips.

Shaw shifts at Root's side, crossing her legs and letting them brush against Root's. Her eyes travel from them back to Root, a mischievous smile starting on her lips.

"I wasn't asking where you were going to be so you could be there  _alone_."

Root's grin grows, and she begins to toy with Shaw's fingers before scooping them up and holding them tight.

"Someone's clingy," Shaw mutters playfully, and Root nudges her shoulder. "So, we headed to your place?"

Root's lips part to speak, stop, and her eyes focus just past Shaw for a moment.

"Sorry, Sweetie," she says, untangling their fingers and standing, "but I've gotta run. Road trip to Illinois."

"Sounds like fun. We leaving now?"

Root laughs in surprise.

" _We_?"

"You said you have jet lag," Shaw says, standing as well. "You sleep, I'll drive."

She hopes Root won't say no, or that it's a one-woman job. Because if Root said to stay, she would, but that doesn't mean she'd have to be happy about it.

Root smiles, eyes overflowing with affection.

"We're going to need something to drive," Root says, and both their gazes drift to the garage behind them. Root raises a brow, and Shaw's smile pokes through. She grabs Root's hand, not bothering to worry if it's clingy or what it means for them. Just enjoying the moment.

"Let's go high jack a car."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for the prompt! I really hope that you liked it, and that I didn’t take too long to get back to you. Also, you are too sweet!!! Thank you so much for reading, and again, thank you for sending this! It absolutely made my day.


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